s
of serious care, whose frowns were horrid clouds, whose smiles were
glorious sunshine, whose kisses were daily looked for, and if missed
would be missed with mourning. How should it have been so with her? In
all the intercourses of her family, since the first rough usage which
she remembered, there had never been anything sweet or gracious.
Though she had recognized a certain duty, as due from herself to her
father, she had found herself bound to measure it, so that more should
not be exacted from her than duty required. She had long known that
her father would fain make her a slave for his own purposes, and that
if she put no limits to her own obedience he certainly would put none.
She had drawn no comparison between him and other fathers, or between
herself and other daughters, because she had never become conversant
with the ways of other families. After a fashion she had loved him,
because nature creates love in a daughter's heart; but she had never
respected him, and had spent the best energies of her character on a
resolve that she would never fear him. 'He may cut me into pieces, but
he shall not make me do for his advantage that which I do not think he
has a right to exact from me.' That had been the state of her mind
towards her father; and now that he had taken himself away with
terrible suddenness, leaving her to face the difficulties of the world
with no protector and no assistance, the feeling which dominated her
was no doubt one of awe rather than of broken-hearted sorrow. Those
who depart must have earned such sorrow before it can be really felt.
They who are left may be overwhelmed by the death--even of their most
cruel tormentors. Madame Melmotte was altogether overwhelmed; but it
could not probably be said of her with truth that she was crushed by
pure grief. There was fear of all things, fear of solitude, fear of
sudden change, fear of terrible revelations, fear of some necessary
movement she knew not whither, fear that she might be discovered to be
a poor wretched impostor who never could have been justified in
standing in the same presence with emperors and princes, with
duchesses and cabinet ministers. This and the fact that the dead body
of the man who had so lately been her tyrant was lying near her, so
that she might hardly dare to leave her room lest she should encounter
him dead, and thus more dreadful even than when alive, utterly
conquered her. Feelings of the same kind, the same fears, and